The pot under the bed …… and other stories

I have been thinking of what one item marks my childhood off from our kids and it is the chamber pot. 

My chamber pot, date unknown

My Wikipedia tells me it is “a portable toilet, meant for nocturnal use in the bedroom.

It was common in many cultures before the advent of indoor plumbing and flushing toilets”*

.Now I am open to all sorts of suggestions for alternative “things” of which computers, the internet, CD’s, social media, and mobiles could be considered, but I still go for the chamber pot.

At which point I must confess that at home in Peckham we did have “indoor plumbing and flushing toilets”, but not so my grandparents who had lived in Hope Street in Derby from the mid-1920s, and finally left for a posh house almost 40 years later.

And for them a visit to the loo meant the outside lavatory which had been a shared affair until sometime in the 1940s.

There will be plenty of people who are quick to shout out their experiences of sitting in all weathers while listening to the daily doings of neighbours in the shared yard.   What ever the time of year it was not the best of experiences and one which might be shared with the odd spider and curious cat.

Granddad and Nana in the back yard circa 1940

But in the middle of the night, especially in deepest winter, like the rest of the people in the street the alternative to the outside lavvy was the chamber pot.

It resided under the bed at night and was emptied as one of the early morning tasks.

Mine in Hope Street was made of porcelain and when I was very young was something I was expected to sit on, which was fine if you got your balance just right.

And in the dead of night was always cold to the touch.

Of course, chamber pots still exist even in the most up to date houses and are the main stay of those childhood steps from nappy to lavatory, and in different guises, shapes and materials can be found in hospitals and nursing homes.

But the idea that under your bed would be a “portable toilet”  to avoid the trip to the yard  is not something our children ever experienced.

On the odd occasion that the topic has come up I am met with a mix of disgust, and incomprehension.

But that is what comes of having been born in the first half of the last century.

 Happily my childhood chamber pot has long since gone, but back in 2009 in the company of my old friend Joe Callaghan we came across a much battered and corroded enamelled metal one lifted from the archaeological dig in Miller Street.  

To the bafflement of the archaeologists, I made a bid for it along with a brick from the excavation.

Joe, two archaeologists and the Miller Street Dig, 2009

The houses dated from the late 18th century, but I have no idea how old my pot was.

Suffice to say the team bad me and Joe a fond farewell as we made our way towards the cathedral each now in possession of a hand made 18th century brick, wrapped in plastic bags pondering on the story we would give to the police if stopped.

I have never asked Joe what he did with his brick, and mine is still somewhere in the cellar.

Alas the tin potty was eventually discarded, and all I have is a slightly out of focus picture.

Still it's a link with my past.

Location, My childhood, Hope Street, Derby and Miller Street, Manchester

Pictures, my chamber pot, date unknown, Granddad and Nana in the back yard of Hope Street, circa 1940, and Joe, two archaeologists and the Miller Street Dig, 2009, from the collection of Andrew Simpson

*Chamber Pots https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Chamber_pot

** A planned archaeological dig in Hulme and two retired teachers, https://chorltonhistory.blogspot.com/2012/01/planned-archaeological-dig-in-hulme-and.html